


Shit, Let's Be Parents

by X15lm204



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Parenthood: Red and Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:46:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X15lm204/pseuds/X15lm204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Crew's hideout is not a gogdamn orphanage!</p><p>And neither is the Felt's mansion!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shit, Let's Be Parents

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing I [wrote back in January](http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread.php?35751-MSPA-Fanfiction-V-We-re-Going-to-Need-More-Wands&p=4599802&viewfull=1#post4599802) that I realized I never posted here.

“You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me, Deuce.”

Slick is flipping the fuck out. What a surprise. Droog rubs the bridge of his nose. He loves these guys, he really does, but he is getting seriously tired of their bullshit.

“Well, I mean, you all had kids, so I thought I should get one of my own! That way we can all be Dads!”

Droog stares at the kid. It stares back.

“Did you even make sure it was actually an orphan before dragging it here?” he asks.

“She has a name, you know.”

Huh. “It's a she, then?”

“Yes! ...and, uh, maybe? She was alone at the time...”

Slick leans forward, glaring at the...girl, apparently...from inches away.

The kid opens her mouth, but instead of speaking...blows a spit-bubble? Slick stares at it, intimidating glare turning into pure confusion.

Then it pops, showering Slick's face with saliva.

He leaps back with a shriek, wiping frantically at his face. “That is it, you fuckin' bitch! You're dead!”

Boxcars holds him back with one hand gripping his collar. Deuce and Droog ignore the outburst entirely. Business as usual.

“I don't know, Deuce. Are you sure you're ready for this kind of responsibility?”

“You don't think I'll be a good daddy, do you? You didn't think Slick would be a good daddy either, and look how that turned out!”

Droog looks back at Karkat, who's currently shouting muffled expletives into the floor, where he lies pinned by Aradia sitting on his back and Nepeta lying on his head. Droog's not sure if this counts as a point for or against Deuce's argument.

But he's making the indignant face. Droog can never say a word against Deuce's indignant face. They could put that on greeting cards with the kittens and the puppies and it wouldn't be at all out of place.

“...Fine.”

Deuce lets out a whoop of joy and bounces in place. The kid looks up at him and...well, Droog thinks its a smile or something like it. Slick throws up his hands and snarls, but turns around to chase the girls off Karkat in tacit acquiescence.

Boxcars smiles and digs around in his pockets. “Hey there, little Casey. I'm your Uncle Boxcars. Would you like a lollipop?”

The little salamander takes the candy with a glub.

 

\--------

 

It's all because of the damn girl, Snowman thinks sourly. Scratch is going soft, and every one of these idiots is following right behind him.

Ever since the little troll had shown up, the number of robberies the gang planned and executed had dropped off severely. Suddenly it was all about the girl. Cans and Itchy would drop anything to give her rides around the mansion on their shoulders. Doze and Fin had somehow turned out to be fantastic babysitters. Stitch could be found teaching her about tailoring and fashion at all hours, even to the point of briefly neglecting the Overcoat.

Even Crowbar had once completely dropped his plans for a heist when he found out it fell on her wriggling day, deciding planning a party was more important.

Worst of all, the stupid girl isn't even afraid of Snowman. Sure, she would never hurt her – Scratch couldn't kill her, but he could do so much worse – but the troll could at least have the decency not to know this.

Snowman just needs to get out of this place for a while. Take a walk, or something.

When she opens the door to the mansion, she finds someone standing there, one hand raised as if to knock.

A kid.

A troll.

A beggar, maybe? No. Not with that look in his eyes – that predatory gleam that isn't quite hidden as he recognizes her and the fear begins to sink in.

“Kid, do you even know where in the hell you are?”

“not until just now i didn't. MAYBE I'LL JUST TURN THE FUCK AROUND.”

“Not likely.”

He watches her, tense and ready. She can feel the wheels turning in his head. He glances up, to the right, to the left, down; he knows what's going to happen, every move shes going to make and every countermove he'll make in return.

He's too close for the whip, so she'll draw the gun to scare him off. He'll dart between her legs before she can get a proper bead on him, and by the time she'll grab for his overlarge horns he'll already be through and the club he hides under his shirt will hit her in the back of the knee. But he's just a kid; his blow won't be enough to properly hurt or distract her and he's light enough that her punch will launch him backwards. He'll roll to his feet with acrobatic grace but by then he'll be at just the right distance for her whip to wrap around his neck.

Checkmate.

He sees it. She sees it. Both know the other knows there's no better outcome for him. He drops his gaze in tacit acquiescence.

Smart kid.

She can see his rage at knowing he is beaten. His face is impassive but heat boils off of him as he swears to himself that someday he'll be better, someday he'll be able to beat her, but this is Snowman, and he's not going to have the chance because he is going to die, right here and right now, and he'll never hold the world in his hands and squeeze until it pops.

The rage and hate and impotence stirs long forgotten memories. She basks in the black, and in the knowledge that he'll never reach his goal; even if she lets him go, she'll always be better. She loves this feeling more than she loves breathing.

…

Damn it all.

“What's your name, kid?”

“GAMZEE. gamzee makara.”

“Get in here, Gamzee. You look half starved; we'll get you something to eat.”

She can't lose it or let it walk away, this time. This diamond in the rough will be hers, hers to raise, hers to let loose upon the world, hers to torment with her constant superiority.

He looks her in the eye, at first confused, but then he sees. He grins, and black amusement mixes with the rage and hate. Don't bet on it, that grin speaks to her, louder than his words.

“you're a motherfucking miracle, lady. A REAL MOTHERFUCKING MIRACLE.”

Maybe he'll even be a challenge, Snowman thinks.

It's a perfect match. She's no queen and he's no jester.

"You play chess, kid?"

"never could get the miracles of the movements. MOTHERFUCKING KNIGHTS, HOW DO THEY WORK?"

"You'll learn."


End file.
